“Farrell!” He stopped again. “I thought we agreed weapons practice would occur at the training field. And by the Six! Where’s the leather vest I magically enhanced?”
Farrell tried but couldn’t keep from laughing. “Erstad, do you really think we’re holding weapons practice in our rooms? Without protective gear?” Shaking his head, he waved for his teacher to follow. “Miceral has been teaching me hand-to-hand fighting for a few weeks now. You can watch the end of our session. We don’t have much left.”
Miceral sat on his haunches, waiting. “Good morning, Master Erstad. A fine day to be up and about.”
“Before you two return to beating each other,” Erstad said, “it seems to an old fool like me that this isn’t a fair fight. Miceral is certainly much stronger than you, and even blocking him has got to be impossible for someone who isn’t a Muchari.”
“That’s true, and the first time we sparred, I got tossed against the wall. After that, I’ve enhanced my strength to match his. Can’t do much about how quick he is, but that’s easier for him to control than his strength. This way, if I execute the moves properly, I can withstand his blows.” Farrell’s lips curled into a grimace. “When I don’t, I end up with a bruise.”
He engaged his spell, feeling the magic hug him like a second skin. He faced Miceral and bowed slightly. Flexing his knees and twisting to the side, he raised his arms. Miceral assumed a similar position, leaning forward on his toes.
When Miceral launched himself, Erstad gasped. Ignoring the sound, Farrell parried the attack and countered. Miceral easily swatted aside the blow and circled his partner, looking for an opening.
Focused on both keeping his guard up and attacking, he never got close to scoring a hit. Twice Miceral sneaked past his defenses. A big improvement, but still not good enough. After the second time, Miceral stopped and showed him how to angle his arm. After he demonstrated the proper form, they resumed training.
One particular move proved elusive. After the third time he failed to stop Miceral’s attack, Farrell found himself on the mat. Frustrated, he popped up, trying to find the right position.
“That’s enough for today,” Miceral said, stepping back.
“But I haven’t figured out that last move, Ral. One more time.” Farrell stared at the position of his feet without looking up.
“Sorry, but we agreed I get to call an end to the session if I think you’re too tired.” Miceral held out a clean towel. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”
Less than happy, Farrell tried to conceal his disappointment. “I suppose we ought not to act as if Master Erstad isn’t here, either. He surely didn’t come to watch our morning workout.” His hint for Erstad to state his purpose failed when the old wizard said nothing. Instead, he stood up, shaking his head but smiling.
After Farrell dried off, Erstad came closer, thankfully without the scowl. “I’m impressed, lad. You’re quite good. I was prepared to be angry with you both, but I can’t. Though I’d be happier if you could train without getting thumped so much.”
Ignoring the last part, Farrell leaned in to kiss Miceral’s cheek. “I have an excellent teacher, despite the bruises.”
Erstad chuckled. “Judging by the number of welts, you’ve gotten thumped more than a few times.”
Farrell nodded as he got himself some water.
“Actually, I’m quite proud of him,” Miceral said. “I’ve been doing this about a hundred years longer than him. We only started practicing two months ago. He’s doing great.”
Farrell thought he’d been doing well, but hearing it from Miceral in front of his old teacher sent goose bumps down his arms. Clutching the water jug, he found two cups and offered one to Erstad.
“Do you have any coffee?” Erstad asked.
“Let me see. I think there’s some left from breakfast.”
The coffee left in the pot felt tepid, bordering on cold. Farrell found a clean mug, filled it, and waved his hand over the top as he returned to his guest.
“There was enough left for a cup, but I had to heat it for you.” Handing it to his mentor, he received a grateful smile for his efforts.
Still sweating profusely, he sat back on his heels, wiping his face and drinking water. He watched Erstad take a sip and smile.
“Boy, I hate you for turning me on to this vice. Where on earth did you develop a taste for this? I know Haven lacks a good grade of bean, so it couldn’t be from drinking the swill we get here.”
“A few years ago, I made my way to Belsport. Prince Wilhelm’s wizard—Darius—and I became friendly. He took me to this little shop with amazing coffee. Ever since, I’ve done my best to keep a good supply. Lisle makes sure to squirrel away my stock and use it sparingly.”
Erstad arched his brows, keeping both hands around the steaming mug. “What prompted this morning ritual of beating Farrell?”
“Miceral and I were discussing magic and why it made me so tired.” He couldn’t resist sneaking a peek at his lover. “He asked whether better conditioning might assist my wizardry.”
Miceral reached out and squeezed Farrell’s hand. “I figured better conditioning would give him more stamina for working magic.”
“So to improve his physical condition, you suggested he let you beat him on a daily basis?” Erstad’s light tone let Farrell know he was only half-serious. “Why not tie him to Nerti and make him run after her as she gallops around Gharaha?”
Farrell snorted water through his nose.
“Actually,” Miceral said when he’d stopped laughing, “this is very good conditioning, and it also serves to hone his self-defense skills.”
“Or at least his self-preservation skills, judging by the welts.”
“Hey!” Farrell gave them a mock scowl. “I’m still in the room, you know.”
“Yes, I can see that from the red glow of your body.” Erstad’s shield went up just before Farrell considered tossing a ball of water at him.
“So, what prompted your unexpected visit?” Hopefully, that would end the talk of his bruises.
“I haven’t seen much of you lately. I figured I’d come early and we could talk on the way to the Elder Circle.” Erstad gave him a sharp look, and Farrell stood to hide his frown that the mere mention of the session brought to his face. “You are planning to attend?”
“Of course. We began our training earlier today so I could make the meeting. Just because I’m in love doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten my responsibilities. Horgon and I went over the agenda last night.”
“Wesfazial and I are still amazed at how well you and Horgon work together.” Erstad arched a bushy eyebrow at Farrell. “Especially after how you treated him when you first met.”
“Hey!” Miceral pointed a finger at the elder wizard. “My father didn’t exactly welcome Farrell with open arms.”
Erstad nodded once. “That’s true, but dropping Northhelm’s leader onto the dirt within minutes of meeting him wasn’t an exercise in restraint.”
“Once we put that behind us, we found we liked each other.” Farrell shrugged. “I guess we both realized neither of us were a spawn of Neblor. And I needed someone to run Haven besides me. None of the other displaced rulers have the ability, so I figured I’d try the new guy.”
“He’s being modest.” Miceral wrapped an arm around Farrell and gave him a brief hug. “Father told me Farrell’s offer upended his feelings toward us. Rather than use his authority to humble my father, Farrell reached out to try to make amends. He didn’t expect that, not after how they met. Once they started working together, Father found he couldn’t help but like Farrell. That of course changed his attitude toward me, and now we’re all getting along.”
“I thought Lenore did something to him, but Nerti and Glendora both told me She hadn’t intervened.” Farrell wiped his face with the towel again. “Whatever the reason, he’s been great. With him handling the day-to-day running of Haven, I’ve had time to get back to what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“Li
ke clean your workroom?” Erstad stared down his nose at his onetime student.
Farrell shook his head. “I even organized my workroom. Feel free to look while I go get clean.”
Farrell headed to the bath chamber, not waiting for an answer.
“Don’t take the rest of the morning primping,” Erstad called after him. “We’re all friends.”
Muttering, Farrell filled the tub and stripped off his sweaty clothing. Much as he hated the comments, he knew he’d earned a few big red marks today. And he couldn’t soak them away either. A sigh escaped his lips as he stepped into the tub.
Mindful Erstad waited for him, he washed and dried quickly and then cleaned his teeth. Once he returned to his room, he magically summoned suitable clothes.
Despite Erstad’s words, he needed to dress like a prince for the session. Miceral returned with Erstad’s cup as Farrell pulled his boots on.
“That was quick.” Miceral bent over to kiss him. Farrell let go of the boot and grabbed Miceral’s head for a slightly longer lip-lock. “Minty.”
“I aim to keep you happy.” He gave a quick wink and yanked the stubborn boot onto his left foot. “How do I look?”
“Like the most handsome prince in all the world.”
Miceral swept him into a hug, leading to a kiss that threatened
Farrell’s resolve. “Ral, you have to stop or I won’t go to the meeting.”
Rolling his eyes, Miceral let him go. “Like you really want to go.”
“Of course not, but Erstad’s waiting for me. I have to.” He stole a last kiss, grabbed Miceral’s hand, and headed toward their guest and three hours of pinching himself awake.
FARRELL TRULY hated Petitioners’ Day. With the threat of Meglar looming every day, trying to pay attention to whatever minor dispute someone brought to him—and they were all trifling—proved difficult. Left to his own devices, he’d rather focus on how to defeat Meglar, finding time to ride with Nerti, and of course more time alone with Miceral.
At the edge of his thoughts, he realized the petitioner had stopped speaking. All eyes focused on him, waiting for a decision. Honorus’s balls! He’d done it again. Fortunately, his first minister knew how to handle this.
“Gentlemen.” Horgon stood up. “Yours is an interesting and unique issue. Prince Farrell and I shall confer and return shortly with a decision.”
In other words, Farrell needs a break from your mindless drivel.
Relieved, he joined Horgon, stepping away from the dais.
Horgon placed a hand on his shoulder when they reached the small room behind the chamber. “Normally, I’d chide you on the importance of paying attention, but this was particularly painful.”
“Do I need to know the particulars, or can you just tell me what I think?” Farrell shrugged, aware he had taken the lazy path.
Horgon laughed. “Both. The facts are simple; the recitation was painful. Barbik, that’s the petitioner, paid for a space to sell cloth in the Respital Market Square. Part of his agreement stated that no one else be allowed to sell cloth within twenty yards of his stall. Another merchant bribed the manager of the square to let him set up closer to Barbik, hoping to poach customers when he got too busy.”
“So Barbik wants part of his fee back to compensate for the breach.” Farrell didn’t see that as unreasonable.
“Yes, but—” Horgon held up his hand before Farrell could head back. “Hansor, the manager, has done this before. Most times, people don’t complain because it’s too much time away from work to file the petition and come argue the claim. I suggest you refund the entire fee Barbik paid for the last three seasons. That’ll send a message to Hansor that, if he keeps it up, it will pay for others to levy a claim.”
Nodding first, he grinned at his minister. “You’re a tyrant. Where can I get lessons?”
“Never you mind.” Horgon rubbed the top of Farrell’s head. “Let me be the bad guy. Follow my lead, but remember the real punishment is three seasons.”
“THAT WAS brilliant.” Farrell smirked as he led his advisors from the room.
“Sounds almost like you enjoyed yourself.” Erstad appeared, followed by Wesfazial.
“Don’t get carried away.” Farrell laughed. “I prefer to say I made the best of a bad situation.”
“Figures that’s how you spin this, boy,” Wesfazial grumbled.
“Changing subjects.” They only had a short break, and he didn’t want to spend it being the butt of their jokes. “What word from Cylinda?”
Erstad’s smile vanished, replaced with a grave expression. “She’s been busy moving through occupied lands. Meglar’s assault on Northhelm resulted in the destruction of his entire force. You timed your departure well. Meglar’s attack arrived just moments after your shield went down.”
He shrugged. “That was the idea.”
“Planned or not, the stones exploded, creating a deadly wave of energy that killed everyone in the valley.” Wesfazial appeared pleased with the information.
Erstad’s head bobbed up and down. “Word is Meglar went into a rage. Seems he really wanted to capture as many Muchari as he could.”
Farrell led them to a small, empty dining area not far from the council chamber. The staff had already set out trays of food, so he sealed the room against outside ears and faced Horgon.
“You need to speak to your people about the danger of being taken alive. Meglar very much wants to capture a Muchari for his experiments.”
His hand over a sandwich, Horgon paused. “Why?”
“We believe,” Wesfazial spoke first, “that turning a Muchari into a Chamdon would create both a stronger soldier and one with a greater life span. It’s the latter he’s particularly interested in fixing. Imagine if he could reuse his army instead of having to make a new one for every battle.”
“Would certainly give us less time to recover.” Farrell pushed his plate away.
Across the table, Erstad scowled. He flicked his finger and the plate slid back. “Eat your lunch, and no back talk.”
What good was being a prince if everyone told him what to do? Rather than voice that thought, Farrell did as instructed, sneering at his mentor with the first few bites.
The others laughed, and the mood lightened. They teased him some as they spoke, but he preferred that to speaking about Meglar and his forces. When they’d finished, he unsealed the room to allow the staff to clean up.
“A moment, Farrell,” Horgon called to him when he made to leave. “The afternoon session is light and the cases uninteresting. I’m sure you’d rather meet Miceral for weapons practice than sit here.”
Try as he might, Farrell couldn’t suppress a smile.
Horgon laughed. “That’s answer enough. Go.”
“Thank you.”
“One more thing,” Horgon said before Farrell could turn. “Do you mind if I join you for dinner tonight?”
“Dinner?” Horgon never asked to join them.
“Yes, you know, that time when you eat toward the end of the day?” The laugh covered Horgon’s obvious discomfort.
What a fool he’d been. Who else did Horgon have if Miceral and he ignored him all the time? “Of course. I’d like that. My apologies for not asking you sooner. Making you ask is incredibly rude of me.”
“No worries.” The smile did little to make Farrell feel better. “I wanted to give you two time alone, but I figured I’ve waited a polite amount now. Is seventh hour too early?”
“Perfect. I’ll let Miceral know.”
Chapter Twelve
HOPING TO spar with Miceral before he met Nerti, Farrell fetched his sword. Breathing deep to curb his excitement, he turned the corner into the practice room.
Miceral and Thomas stood side by side, watching trainees hack at one another. Before he could call out, they stopped the exercise and began a terse evaluation of the students. Unobserved, he quickly stripped off his court clothing, donned his practice gear, and walked onto the training ground.
Mic
eral gave him a silly grin when their eyes met. He exchanged a look with Master Thomas, earning a nod in return. Miceral appeared pleased but didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached out for Farrell’s hand and walked him back to the changing area.
“Hello, my handsome prince.” He kissed Farrell lightly. “How went the weekly complaint session?”
Shaking his head, Farrell couldn’t hold back a small laugh. “You attend two times and you somehow wiggle your way out. But to answer your question, it went better than expected, as witnessed by my presence. Your father is quite accomplished at these meetings, and I think people are afraid of him in ways they never were of me. Perhaps you Muchari are simply scarier than we wizards.”
Miceral laughed. “Or perhaps Father has less tolerance for foolishness, and they fear his temper more than yours.” “Either way, you may be finding out soon.” Miceral’s face took on a quizzical look.
Trying not to gloat, Farrell added, “Horgon suggested that you ought to learn how to take his place.”
“Perhaps, but that’s a discussion for another day.” A mischievous smirk crossed his face. “Any chance you can summon that black staff of yours—the one with the metal caps on the end?”
Casting his partner a confused look, Farrell nodded slowly at the curious request. What did Miceral want with it? “I could, but I see little need for it right now.”
Miceral walked toward the armory. “Humor me, please?”
Seeing no one near, Farrell shrugged and intoned the spell. His staff appeared in his hands with a soft pop. Waiting, he twirled the black wood idly, switching from hand to hand.
Miceral returned with a warrior who didn’t appear much older than him, but had eyes that betrayed his true age. He carried a staff similar to Farrell’s.
“Farrell, this is Master Baylec. Once he trained me. Now he’s assigned full-time to work with Master Thomas.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Prince Farrell.”
Farrell clasped the offered right arm. “Call me Farrell, please. Master Thomas taught me the folly of pulling rank on his practice field.”
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